


Drifted into Hell

by Disembowel-me (Sarunkoku)



Category: Boyfriend to Death (Visual Novels)
Genre: Abuse, Accidental Voyeurism, Anal Fingering, Bondage, Choking, Degradation, F/M, Forced Oral, Forced Orgasm, Hair Pulling, M/M, MC is a lady, Multi, Necrophilia, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Omorashi, Psychological Torture, Threesome, Torture, and then just regular voyeurism, blunt force trauma, fouuursooome....??, gagging, lawrence cries a lot, minor supernatural shenanigans, ren cries a lot, secretions of many bodily fluids, well. as much of a lady as strade is a gentleman but you know what i mean, whats new
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-28
Updated: 2018-09-28
Packaged: 2019-07-18 10:04:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16116146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarunkoku/pseuds/Disembowel-me
Summary: Lawrence wasn't going to escape that easy.A follow up to Ren's route where Lawrence doesn't escape quite quick enough.





	Drifted into Hell

**Author's Note:**

> I absolutely loved seeing Lawrence cry when you were forced to kill him so I thought I'd write my own little follow-up. Also, I remember seeing somewhere that Lawrence is "functionally immortal" sooo uh the fun never ends, I guess?
> 
> I fucking adore [this art](https://slashesotron.tumblr.com/post/177043627236/sup-i-drew-lawrence-suffering-again-just-a) by slashesotron and it inspired the piss stuff. There's not a lot, but like. It's awesome pls look at it
> 
> Made my own [Lawrence playlist!](https://tinyurl.com/yag3wqos)

Lawrence was drifting.  


Endless. Grey. Calm. The gentle pull of the water. This was familiar, as familiar as dirt and blood under his nails, as familiar the bright, mild scent when you break a plant’s stem, as familiar as all his pungent powders and mixes. As much of his home as his apartment was.  


But something wasn’t right this time. He knew what it felt like, what it was supposed to feel like. He wasn’t really sure… what that was. But he knew it wasn’t this.  


The water lapped gently higher at his body like it wanted to swallow him. It was cold. His core was cold. Too cold. Something ached vaguely in his gut. Long blonde hair lazily drifted around his head in the gentle water. Gentle… Drifting… like a fallen leaf drifts to the whims of a stream.  


But he couldn’t remember ingesting anything. He couldn’t remember how he got here. His limbs were heavy like lead, tugging at him to sink. The ache in his gut radiated a sort of submission to the circumstance throughout his body. He was so tired. The pull of the water whispering to him. _Close your eyes. Sink. It’ll be alright._  


This wasn’t right. This… really wasn’t right.  


Mustering what little hazy willpower he had, he pulled his arm up from his side and dragged it through the liquid - the thick, tough liquid…? It felt more like he was swimming through a pool of amber. Or were his arms that weak? Why was he so weak?  


Lifting his hand to his abdomen, over the dull ache in his stomach, it immediately became a sharp pain. Shocking him. Stabbing through him. He jerked and hissed, sending ripples throughout the otherwise nearly still waters. Suddenly he was wide awake, lucid, and aware that his entire body was in pain, radiating from the sickening red-hot in his middle. He shot up, flailing in the river, vision pulsating in and out of focus so harshly he barely noticed the reddish color invading the grey water all around him. Nausea yanked through him and bile teased the back of his throat.  


It hurt. It hurt so badly. Almost like…

_**Ren.** _

His vision pulsated harder, a numbness in his body pulsating along with it.  


_The stranger from the pub._  


Lawrence was dying. Or was already dead.  


_The knife, the hot tears streaming down his face, the despair of not even being able to scream or beg them to stop. Forced to watch. To endure. Helplessly._  


But this wasn’t like the first time he saw the river.  


_He dreamt of dying every day. But not like this. **Not like this.**_  


He was dying then, too.  


_Locking eyes with his captors. His betrayers. His killers._  


He’s learned since then.  


_How eagerly his skin spliced, how his organs shifted and spilled forth from him. How hot they were. How degrading it was. How horrific. How **easy** it was. _  


How easy it is for everything to change.

-

The floor underneath him was cold. His body stiff. Every shifting of a muscle made him want to curl up and cry. Eyes crusted shut, hands curled into tight fists, slowly regaining a semblance of conscious thought. A sickening smell was emanating from somewhere. Something. It was a smell Lawrence was intimately familiar with, but he didn't know where it was coming from. Laying there for a moment, still aside from involuntary shaking, he didn’t want to move. He didn’t want to do anything.  


A cramp in his stomach stood out against the rest of his suffering. It was angry, tight and nauseating, sharp and pulsating. It prompted him to open his eyes, peeling the fused eyelids painfully away from each other. The light stung his eyes and they were blurry and dry. All he could see were light and dark splotches. He blinked hard, painstakingly outstretched an arm and pushed himself up, joints and bones protesting, feeling like they’d break under his weight, body feeling twice as heavy as it should’ve. He blinked again.  


“N-no, don’t… don't make me, p-please…”  


A shaky plea came from nearby. Lawrence's blood went cold. It was Ren’s voice. He almost didn't recognize it with the terror that dripped from it, but it was definitely Ren. Adrenaline numbed his pains enough to scramble upright and he looked down at himself. Flannel slashed open, stained with red. He wasn’t sure how he was still alive. Or how his organs were back in their rightful place. How he hadn't bled out. It was as if his skin had knit itself back together and left no mark, just a phantom pain. His eyes trailed down to his sweatpants, soaked at the crotch. An ashamed flush crept up his face as he remembered- he’d pissed himself. He’d been so afraid that he had pissed himself. Anger began to burn his face too. Anger that they were able to reduce him to something so pathetic, and then killed him. They had degraded him and laughed at him and _betrayed him._ Like a final insult to the lonely life he had led, full of ridicule and rejection from everyone he’d ever known.  


But he was still here. He wasn't dead. And by the sound of it, neither was Ren. At least not for now.  


“Ren.” A woman’s voice. It had a dangerous edge to it. “You’re going to. It’ll help you… Help you move on.” The comment was followed by another, but the conversation had turned quiet, enough that all Lawrence could hear through the wall was the indistinct, low ambiance of their voices.  


Lawrence struggled to stand up, leaning heavily against the wall, the wet sweatpants clinging coldly to his thighs. Everything had been so hot. His tears, his urine, his wounds, the terror and humiliation, it had all burned so hotly. But now it was all cold and drying. How long had it been? What even happened? Ren had been so confident and in control, but now…  


He touched his face, realizing the gag was still on him, though looser than it had been. Dried tears, blood, and drool caked his cheeks and chin. He wanted to take the gag off, but was afraid he'd fall if he weren't using both hands to keep himself upright against the wall. There was no way he could get back at Ren like this. Cautiously, he steadied himself, and reached up and pulled the drool soaked cloth out of his mouth and let it fall to his neck. Then he took a single painful, meticulous step. His long, muscular legs trembled under him and his knees almost gave out. He stepped again. He wobbled again. But he didn’t fall.  


Ever so carefully, he peeked around the corner. There was Ren, and the other person from the pub. She was standing with her back facing Lawrence, holding something in her hand. Ren was on the ground, on top of someone, or… something? It wasn't moving. It didn't look alive. But it looked like a person. Lawrence looked harder. It looked like… like…  


A corpse.  


Ren was on top of a corpse. Moving. Doing… something to it.  


Stroking himself over it.  


He was facing toward Lawrence but was looking down at the body’s face, sitting on its chest. There were tears in his eyes, trailing down his cheeks.  


A shiver ran through Lawrence’s body, down, down, the unmistakable tingling below filling him with shame, making him uncomfortable. He averted his gaze. His hand drifted, stopping just a moment before continuing (against his better judgment) to his crotch, hoping he could stop this feeling, but the touch only solidified his arousal. He stood there for a moment, just holding himself, eyes gravitating back to the body. It was bloodied, but not rotten. It looked hardly decomposed at all. The way it moved under Ren was funny, the flesh wasn’t as soft as it should’ve been, the limbs were slightly, unnaturally contorted, there was a small amount of some kind of liquid pooled underneath it. A man, it looked like. Its eyes and mouth wide open, face static, permanently frozen in shock.  


A loud gasping hitch broke Lawrence’s focus. Ren had stopped moving over the body, his shoulders hunched forward and his small body shuddered softly. Another loud hitch- he was sobbing.  


The woman raised the thing in her hand. “This was your previous… ‘keeper,’ right?” When Ren didn’t respond, she raised her voice. _“Right?”_  


Ren’s head shot up. “Y-yes… That’s why I ca-an’t...” He was visibly shaking, though hand still on his erection.  


Lawrence could feel his own growing in his hand. Without realizing, his hand brushed against it through the thin, piss-and-blood stained cloth. Shame, disgust, and horrible thoughts stained his mind. He stroked it again.  


“You’ve done this many times before in front of him. Go on. This time isn’t any different.”  


This time was obviously different.  


Ren scrunched his face up, fresh tears gleaming at his waterline, and ran his hand down his length once. “I can’t! Not on his-” A sob interrupted him, “-his face...”  


A loud buzz filled the air and Ren screamed, body stiffening and muscles jerking. A bright light blinked on a massive metal collar fastened around Ren’s neck. A horrified realization shook through Lawrence; it was what _she_ was wearing when he saw them last. A fucking shock collar.  


So many thoughts were racing through his mind. Why had Ren put a shock collar on her? Would it have been around his own neck if it wasn’t for her? How did it get on Ren? Where did he even get something like that in the first place? _What had happened?_  


She scoffed. “You’ll never get over him if we don’t deal with this now.” She swiftly knelt behind Ren and yanked his hair with one hand and took hold of his erection with the other.  


“N- Too tight! It h-hurts-!” Ren cried out, his face flush from crying and the rough touch.  


“Maybe you should have done it yourself, then,” she growled in his ear, and started to jerk him off. His little pink head quickly turned red from the tight grasp on his shaft, his chest rising and falling quickly. His little frame squirmed in her grip, but she only yanked his hair harder, making him yelp and cry again. His face was bright red.  


Lawrence could only stare, mouth slightly agape, feeling his own face growing hot. Transfixed. His hips wavered and he nearly brushed his ever-growing arousal against the wall. He wasn’t sure if it was on purpose or accident; if he wanted to admit to himself.  


“Stop, stop!” Ren yelled, “I’m- s-stop, plea-” She forced his head down to look at the corpse’s face. Snot and tears ran down together into his mouth. His cock twitched in her hand. “Please-” he sobbed desperately, “I-I can’t-”  


He never got to finish his sentence. A scream ripped through his throat. Cum shot out over the body’s face, falling in it’s open mouth and eyes, landing on its forehead and cheeks, in it’s brown scruffy hair and stubble on it’s chin.  


Fresh tears poured down Ren's cheeks and he tried, he really tried to beg her to stop, but all that he managed to actually get out were half whispered, half choked, half-formed words, heaves, and sobs. She paid no heed and kept milking him until everything spurted out pathetically onto the corpse’s neck, and nothing was left except Ren’s frantic breathing and penis painfully red. Finally, she let go.  


Lawrence’s own cock was twitching. Aching. Wanting more.  


And he _hated it._  


“See? It wasn’t so hard,” she said with a slight, sadistic smile.  


More tears threatened Ren’s wide-eyed stare, hands shaking as he struggled to process the scene. “I-I- On Strade’s… St-Strade’s… Oh, god- He- He would’ve killed me-” He sat paralyzed still.  


She squeezed his shoulders in a mock hug. “Good thing you killed him first.”  


Rage slowly overcame Ren’s shock, face scrunching, eyes darting at her and at the corpse, fuzzy ears pinning back against his head. His hands shook even harder and slowly clenched. “I didn’t _kill him!_ ” Lunging suddenly, he tried to swipe at her face. She jumped back; he didn’t get very far. He screamed loudly and fell to the floor, collar blinking and buzzing.  


She laughed. “Should we go visit Lawrence now? He might even be warm still. He has such pretty hair and lips, and his perfect, tight ass…”  


A cold wave of confusion, fear, and violation washed over Lawrence. Had… had she looked at his body? His dead body? Had they already used him? Raped… him? He couldn’t taste anything but his own dry mouth, and he would’ve felt if they’d… down there… The thought alone made him shudder. Disturbingly, when he glanced at his sweatpants, the strings weren’t tied as they had been before. Even more disturbing was that the still very visible tent at his groin didn’t seem to waver at all.  


Closing his eyes hard, he bit his lip and took a deep breath. He had to get out of here. He pulled his focus away from the two (three…?) and glanced around the room. He seemed to be in a small, almost claustrophobic hallway, with a closed door and a bathroom behind him, and in front of him the rest of an unfinished basement. Across from him was some sort of tool shop, and the stairs. The other occupants were near the back wall by a meat freezer. In the middle. Between him and the stairs. He’d have to get past them if he wanted to leave. And he’d have to soon. They’d be looking for him shortly.  


But Ren was still crying. She was still harassing him. Maybe they wouldn’t notice. Maybe he would have enough time. It was his only chance.  


His heart thrummed in his chest. His muscles tightening. No, they’d surely notice. He’d have to sprint; to outrun them. His only chance. And he took it.  


“Lawrence?”  


Half an expression of complete disbelief and half a warning alarm, he didn’t have time to think about who said it. It was as though he’d been shot in the heart. A boost of adrenaline let his exhausted body carry him on his long, shaky legs.  


“Wha… what the fuck?!”  


The first few strides easy, but dread set in as he stared down the steep set of stairs. It might as well have been a mountain. His core was aching worse already and the insides of his bones felt weak. Soft. Rotting. There was no guard rail either. He lifted his foot, sloppily landing on the first step, nearly missing it. He flailed his arms, desperately grasping at the smooth concrete wall as he lifted his next foot, panicking when he stumbled. His feet were like cinder blocks in water. It took so much concentration just to lift it high enough to place it on the next step; his body internally groaned as he struggled to lift the rest of it up. His head was pounding. Heart racing. He-  


Something heavy rammed into him from behind, knocking the breath out of him, shoving him down, stairs jabbing him awkwardly and reigniting the pain where he was cut on the stomach. His forearms had flown underneath him somehow, they were on fire, aching down through his skin radiating down to the bone; they had taken the fall where his head only narrowly missed being cracked against the corner of the stair. A strangled sob escaped his lips and he tried clawing his way up, watery eyes blurring his vision, fat tears clinging to his eyelashes and threatening to roll down his face.  


The weight on his back made it impossible. He could hardly even carry his own weight. Crushing him, suffocating him, hands wrapped around his throat. He grasped in desperation at his neck, trying to peel the fingers away, but they only gripped tighter. Sharp nails dug into his skin, blood leaking slowly from under their grasp. Another hand buried itself in his hair and violently yanked his head back in an awkward, painful position. Forcing him to look the woman in the eye. His tears were free flowing now, cutting trails through the grime on his cheeks.  


“How are you alive?” She demanded.  


“I-I don't… I don't know…” He tried averting his gaze but the hand in his hair pulled harder, making him whimper. If she pulled any more, he thought, his neck was going to snap. A headache began pulsing through his skull; stray hairs entangled in her knuckles felt like they were going to be pulled right out of his scalp.  


“You ‘don’t know’?” She tugged a little harder. Lawrence squeaked awkwardly, fresh tears forcing themselves down his face. His neck- it hurt so bad. His head. His stomach. His arms. His everything. He felt it all, the pounding and pulsing and burning and cramping, stomach flipping and knotting and making him want to puke.  


He shakily breathed out of his mouth. “I don't know. I just woke u-up-" he swallowed down a lump of rising bile. “O-over there.” He lifted a shaky hand to point in the direction he came from.  


“Tch.” She narrowed her eyes at him. It was hard to tell her exact expression upside down, but it wasn't good. “Ren, squeeze harder.”  


The little fingers that were shaking against Lawrence’s trachea let up on the pressure for only a moment before flexing and strangling him harder. What little airflow he had was quickly cut off. A knee drove itself in his back and his neck was contorted even further back. It popped painfully but she didn’t stop; the horrific, subtle sound of his vertebrae grating against each other wormed its way to his inner ear, the muscle and sinews and bones being pulled in ways they weren’t meant to be pulled. He felt the shift of weight on his back, pressure building in his lungs and throat, his face getting redder, vision spotting, consciousness slipping. What little strength he had was fleeting. The room turned dark and red, the stairs in front of him pulsing in and out of focus.  


The, mercifully, they let go.  


His head slung forward and he coughed violently, hand flying to caress his abused neck. Air rushed into his lungs, filling them fast, head spinning. He coughed and coughed. A shaky breath and another cough; his eyes watered and stomach did more flips as he fought to breathe until the inside of his throat was just as sore as the outside. A headache throbbed in and out of his skull. His entire body was visibly shaking. It hurt. It hurt so much.  


Before he could fully recover, his hair was violently grabbed again. He screamed, high pitched with anguish, when she wrenched him down the stairs. He tried to beg, beg her to let go, to please, please stop, but he couldn’t form words yet no matter how hard he tried, only pathetic breathy whispers.  


His body thudded painfully down the stairs. Sharp corners of the stairs hitting his back, his ass, his legs. The headache grew exponentially; he was so nauseous and his vision pulsating again. He could hardly believe his hair didn’t just break off in her hand. He wished it would. He wished she’d let go. He wished it would stop, somehow.  


Digging into his hair with her other hand, she gave an extra-strong snap of her wrists and practically threw him to the basement floor.  


Blood dripped down from his face when he shakily pushed himself back up onto his elbows. He lifted a hand and softly touched a finger between his nose and upper lip. It stung. He couldn’t tell if his nose was bleeding or if his lip was split. Maybe both.  


“So…”  


Blood ran quickly down his lips and chin when he shakily looked up at the sound of her voice. She was leaning against the counter, surrounded by tools, and looked Lawrence up and down. It was obvious to everyone in the room that he wasn’t going to make a break for it. Or it would be extremely foolish and ultimately fruitless for him to do so. He assumed he looked as dead as he felt. As dead as he should be.  


“I cut your stomach open.”  


It was almost insulting how casually she said it. “I remember,” he replied quietly, eyes flitting back down to the ground. His voice was so light and thin and strained. Embarrassing.  


“I had to push your guts back inside of you just so you wouldn’t make such a damn mess all over the floor. Am I dreaming?” She glanced at Lawrence, perplexed, and then to Ren. “Ren, you remember?”  


“I remember.” His voice was small. Staring at the floor. Clearly ashamed. And regretful. Lawrence could’ve almost been happy about that, if he hadn’t been in such a compromised position himself.  


She grabbed something from the shop countertop and knelt in front of Lawrence. His eyes flitted down with her body, trying to figure out what it was. A little black box, like a remote. Probably a taser. His face twitched involuntarily and he cowered as she got closer. “Roll over.” His eyebrows knitted together- _why?_  


“So I can see your stomach.” She waved the taser at him when he still didn’t move.  


He jerked back and shuddered from the pain as he tried to shift his body. “H-hang on. It hurts-” He whimpered when her hand grabbed his shoulder and swiftly pushed him onto his back, aching muscles and joints protesting the sudden movement.  


“Well, I’d be pretty surprised if it didn’t.” She bit her lip, scowling. Her eyes traveled down his body. “Your shirt is trashed, and your pan-” Her voice trailed off.  


Oh. Oh no.  


A hot wave of shame came over his face.  


No, no, _no, no._  


The thin cotton pants did nothing to keep his erection down. He’d forgotten about it. He still had it. _Why did he still have it?_  


Her confusion was mixed with what Lawrence could only describe as a curious excitement. “Whoa…!” She marveled. “Where did this come from?”  


_No no no no no-_  


Something cold and metallic jammed into his bruised ribs, sharply forcing his focus back to the person holding it. Their eyes met. He shivered. “I asked where this came from.”  


Lawrence choked. He was _mortified_ , there was no way he could even begin to tell her, even if he wanted to. “I-I-- Um, uh- it… It, uh…” He glanced around the room helplessly, at the wall, at the unfinished ceiling with insulation and pipes exposed, at Ren, anything else, _anything else._  


Ren had stepped back. Something in his expression was almost sympathetic. Maybe it was the way Ren was staring at his own feet, or the way the corner of his lips were ever so slightly trembling, or that his tail was tucked and his ears were back, but instead of making him feel better, it made Lawrence even more nervous.  


A touched on his bare stomach made him jump. “God, you're cute,” she mumbled. Heat and embarrassment blurred his senses and the next thing he knew, she was on _top of him_ and _straddling him_ , her weight pinning his hips down to the ground and cupped his chin with her hands. Forcing him to face her. Despite his entire body shaking, tensed, and wracked with nervous energy, he could almost see her softening, maybe even enough that he could escape-  


Until the metal prongs were nestled under his chin, right above he'd just been choked. He swallowed anxiously, feeling the blunt round nubs of metal very, very clearly against the movement of his soft, sensitive flesh.  


“Too shy to tell me?” She asked, her intonation rising higher at the end, almost like she was suppressing a giggle. “That's okay. I like shy boys. Especially when they're as pretty as you.” She smiled, then ground herself against him lightly.  


No, God no, his body was betraying him. His whole body felt like it was on fire and his head swam. Was she making fun of him? Was she being honest? She was so close to his face… He involuntarily squeezed his legs together and whined. It was starting to hurt. His mind wandered to Ren’s face a few minutes ago, his eyes to the corpse. _Please, please stop, get off me, let me go, go away, please-_  


“Ooohhhhh.”  


He looked back to her hurriedly and immediately wished he hadn't. She knew. She saw him looking. She absolutely knew.  


She laughed. “ _That's_ what did it?”  


Lawrence wanted to disappear. His eyes blurred with tears.  


She leaned in closer and whispered next to his ear, “You're a freak.”  


A tear rolled down his face and a shiver down his spine. As if he hadn't been told that enough already.  


She pulled back and lifted up his chin again. “Aw, and now you're crying!” Her voice lowered. “I'm going to have so much fun with you.”  


Fear and dread flowed through him and he fought back a sob. This was only the beginning.

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback, criticism, and suggestions all welcome! Title(s?) is a work in progress. I'll take suggestions on that too lol. I know this is fairly tame, but worry not! More nastiness to come


End file.
